Page 110 of Worst in Show

The scene looks highly domesticated—like I’ve interrupted a gentlemen’s conference over a civilized cup of coffee. There’s even a bowl of sugar sitting out and a plate with what looks like gingersnaps. But the atmosphere is completely different. The tension in the room is suffocating. Tilly must agree with me because she vigilantly follows every move of the people present.

I glance up at Leo, waiting for him to take charge of the situation with his usual confidence, but nothing happens.

“So, is this why you want to stay?” his dad says eventually, nodding to me.

Excuse me?

Leo’s arm drops to his side, releasing me.

Whatever is going on here, I’m no longer sure I want to be a part of it. “Maybe I should…” I hitch my thumb in the direction of the front door.

“That would be best.” His dad doesn’t take his eyes off Leo as he speaks. It’s a dismissal of proportions I’m not used to.

I’m about to turn when Leo grips my hand. “No.” His Adam’s apple bounces twice as he swallows. “Anything you have to say, you can say in front of Cora.”

I know this sort of gesture should make me feel flattered, but at the moment, it’s hard to tell if his insistence that I stay is a vote of confidence or a need for a shield. I can’t read him when he’s jittery like this.

Mr. Salinger turns to me, the trace of a smile now completely gone. “You do know he’s married?”

“She knows I’m divorced,” Leo spits out.

His dad’s eyebrows arch. “You finalized it, then? Took your time.”

A knot lodges in my gut. It was that recent?

“Respectfully, that’s between Samantha and me. We’ve both moved on.”

His dad studies me again, and his disapproval could not be clearer. “So I see.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I hear myself say.

Leo’s hand tightens around mine. “I think it’s time for you to leave, Dad.”

“Very well.” Mr. Salinger looks about him as if making sure he’s not leaving anything behind. “But your mother and I look forward to seeing you this weekend.”

Leo glances toward the door. “She’s here?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

At Leo’s quizzical expression, his dad reaches into the inner pocket of his sport coat and produces a business card that he slides toward us on the table. “I’ve arranged an interview for you with Silverton Financial. Thursday afternoon. A fantastic opportunity in your field. I’ve known Spencer for ten years now—stand-up guy, a real shark. You’ll like him.”

Leo picks up the card, and I crane my neck to see the fine print, but all I can make out is the company name and beneath it in bold, NEW YORK.

My tongue lodges itself against the roof of my mouth in indignation. Who does this man think he is?

Next to me, Leo sways slightly before he tosses the card back onto the table. I don’t know if I should take hold of him or try to blend in with the wallpaper. I know he asked me to stay, but I can’t imagine he would have if he thought I’d get this earful.

“This branch will be profitable by March,” he says in a clipped voice. “I’ve worked hard to make it so.”

“Behind my back.”

“You wouldn’t listen. It wasn’t possible for me to stay.”

Mr. Salinger huffs. “Possible. Of course it’s possible. Giving up is a coward’s choice. Goddamn it, what is wrong with you, son? Everything you’ve worked so hard for. All the money I’ve invested. This is not who I raised you to be.”

“I’m not one of your horses!” Leo snaps. “And Canine King is our family business. I thought you’d be…” His hands open and close at his side. “Does Mom know? What does she think?”

His dad’s complexion darkens to a deep red. “Leave your mother out of this. Like I would burden her with your folly in her state.” He snaps his mouth shut, at the same time letting out a shuddered breath through his nose as if overcome with emotion. “She’s doing well right now. So well. We mustn’t…” He shakes his head quickly as if to shrug off a persistent fly. Then he squares his shoulders again and lifts his chin. “Even if we did absorb this branch, you would most certainly not be managing it. Salingers rise above. We hold the strings. You are more than this.” He gestures around us with a scowl. “More than gimmicky photos advertising the competition.”

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